


Outsiders, Outlandish

by VisionaryPowerhouse



Category: The Boys (Comics), The Boys (TV 2019), The Boys (TV 2019) RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Taking a huge leap of faith here...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28193052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryPowerhouse/pseuds/VisionaryPowerhouse
Summary: From average, typical normie to supe upon meeting some tall, dark, and handsome ole' chap seeking vengeance on the most feared supe assemble in the history of ever? Aiza isn't sure what to make of such a development, but she's certainly along for the ride if it means giving the world the justice it truly deserves.(However she's not so certain if it should be at the expense of her dignity and grace, given, ah . . . Circumstances.)*Lots of stuff has been rearranged/omitted/rewritten to suit the plot.
Relationships: Billy Butcher/Original Character(s), Billy Butcher/Original Female Character(s), The Homelander | John/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24
Collections: The Boys Hyperfixes





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a real leap of faith here as stated in the additional tags but WHOOBOI sure hope people enjoy this. I honestly didn't see this one comin' so I hope it's well-received and if it gets some kind of feedback I won't mind sharin' more of this. I'm anticipating this will be a shorter tale but I wanted to get this out of my system after binging both seasons of The Boys one day.
> 
> Some notes before we proceed:
> 
> 1.) The OC has assumed the role of that guy (whose name escapes me) Starlight tried to obtain a sample of Compound-V from, since that is at least one kind of irrelevant character from the series I can replace with someone entirely (hopefully) more relevant, and maybe even more likable and/or useful. Lots of stuff has been omitted for the sake of the plot.  
> 2.) *inserts any more inconsistencies that she can logic her way out of on these later*
> 
> *Will go back and amend any inconsistencies as I see them 'cause I'm very perfectionistic, that way. Sigh.

If you’re wonderin’ why and how I found myself in a soft, satin coated bed, caged in the arms of the universe’s most dangerous, all-mighty, all-merciful supe . . . eheheh, well, provided you have the time to hear me out, which if you’re here, that means you certainly do, the story I'm about to unravel may be the most far-fetched, out of left field, outlandish thing to reach your ears. 

Nah, I’m kiddin’. It’s really not all that much of a story. Ya see, I had a bit of a run-in with some nameless, handsome ole’ British guy who claimed to be a fed, hoping for someone to snoop into freakin' Vought and nab some intel on somethin’ called Compound-V, whatever the Hell that is--something about how that’s what made those supes, well, supes. There’s been rumors spreading about all around the Internet, but I’ve always told myself to take what I hear on there from discredited sources with a grain of salt, as anyone with a modicum of logic, critical thinking, and common sense would do. 

At least, that’s the sort of person I thought I was until I engaged more with this character. 

Sometime during our last meet, claiming he had helpers working as double agents like we’re in some kind of crime soap, I blindly trust his word and take my chances. Guess a part of me wants to feel like the hero for once, be like a supe (disregarding whatever corporate laws or regulations which came equipped with working under Vought, that is), but not the fatally corrupted kind as this guy seems to continually insinuate about ‘em. Won’t know ‘til I see it for myself, I guess. I meet this blondie named Starlight who hands me the goods--a sample of the supposed Compound-V--I almost bail out of there in one piece and undetected.

Almost.

Seems there’s always some kind of fatal flaw to every impulsive move someone pulled, especially on the ‘superior’ versions of the human race--who would’ve thought, right? 

“Why hello, there,” comes Homelander’s voice, a deep, raspy, almost sinister sounding register that sends a shiver dancing up my spine. He turns away from seemingly observing his own portrait--oh, as if we need any more indicators of how self-absorbed most of The Seven is, or so I’ve been told, this merely confirms it--I shouldn’t have come down this way to exit. This is too wide out in the open for any of the others to catch me here. 

“Uhhh, hello,” I reply, impressed that I keep an even tone, despite my heart-rate clearly skyrocketing, and given that Homelander might have heightened senses thanks to his supe abilities, he might’ve caught on, and it’s only a matter of time before he latches onto that weakness. 

“How’d you get past security? I don’t think I’ve seen you in this building before.”

Shit. Shit, shit. Shit. Shouldn’t Nameless have given me some pointers on how to strategically evade these types of scenarios? Seems like the type to always be a few steps ahead! “Um, I was havin’ a meeting with that PR lady -- “

“Ah, you met with Ashley. You must be the next . . . “ I watch him give me a once-over. The way he silently judges me leads me to suspect that he’s read me back to front like a book! “. . . lucky winner to come into The Seven. Many of our original members have fallen, unfortunately. A-Train, Translucent . . .”

I eye him curiously, my interest piqued as to where he’s taking this conversation. No one on any reliable news source has said anything about The Seven looking to replace those three, but then, it makes sense, since they’re known as The Seven. Right now there’s only him, Queen Maeve, Starlight, Black Noir, and that new Stormfront lady. At least that's the most I know. I don't really care for Vought supes either way. Or really supes in general.

I watch as his face contorts into an expression as if he’s mourning for a lost lover: “Not too long ago, Stormfront has been reduced to ashes . . .”

Aw, monkey balls--with all due respect to this guy (which is none, let me be absolutely clear), I really had somewhere to be, and this guy’s testing my goddamn patience, whatever sliver of it I actually have in me.

“Aw, for fuck’s sake, just get to the point. I get it; your team is droppin’ like flies and you need to rebuild from the ground up. But I’ll be real with ya here--I ain’t here to join your team. I was just offered a tour out of the pure kindness of your cute PR lady’s heart. Now will ya please let me pass?”

Homelander chuckles at me, his expression flickering into something dark and sinister, something I’ve never seen from him on the live television or even in person, sometimes when i would find him preaching to his choir of rowdy fans. Then I see his eyes burning that starry red, starry bright, and that might be the last star I see tonight if i don’t get the hell out of here somehow.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” His voice is still dark and eerie, but somehow gentle, like the spooky calm before a storm. Like something out of a horror flick.

“Um . . .” Shit, do I say my actual name or an alias? “Call me A.C., I guess. My initials. For Air Conditionin’. Get it?” 

“Ha ha.” His tone indicates him clearly being not amused. 

“I ain’t comfortable tellin’ a stranger my name.”

“I’m no stranger. I’m Homelander. Earth’s most powerful superhero. Everybody’s best friend; everybody’s hero.”

“You being a public figure doesn’t make things feel any more comfortable or intimate on the level of a close friendship for me, like at all.” I quip as I attempt to slip past him, but his glowing red eyes continue to trail after me. “Please allow me to pass, Homelander, sir. I don’t mean to cause any shit or disrespect or whatever here, and I just want to go about my day.”

“Well, if you’re not lying to me about Ashley, she doesn’t typically give tours out of the pure kindness of her heart. Not unless she’s looking to recruit. That just doesn’t exist with her.”

“Aw, geez, Homelander, ever heard of givin’ someone the benefit of the -- “

“ -- Shut up.” His eyes are blinding red, blazing with fury now as he huffs and puffs like he’s the Big Bad Wolf about to tear my little straw house down! “My point is . . . Ashley doesn’t do things like that without some ulterior motive. She must have plans for you. Or . . .”

I keep the Compound-V sample in a zinc-created case in my very pricey Michael Kor’s purse, hopeful it goes undetected by this over-glorified fedora-wearin’ dudebro. 

“Ah. Perhaps I must have been mistaken. You see, I’ve been concerned about there being a mole within our . . . hive-mind,” Homelander recollects himself and regains his composure so quick, it’s like he’s never lost his temper or threatened to roast me alive with those deadly lasers. “And I may have allowed my paranoia to get the best of me. I’m sorry. Do, go on. I may have a word with Ashley about your recruitment.”

“But sir, there was never -- “

“I think you should leave, ‘A.C.’” Homelander smiles mysteriously. “God bless you, and God bless America.”

With a wave of his hand, he disappears down the corridor. This feels almost too easy. 

And so I make sure not to let my guard down as I exit the very front door of the Vought HQ.

Only to find Nameless lurking in the shadows in his little car.

“Dammit,” I mutter to myself as I hustle to him. “Give me one good reason why I had to endure an encounter with fucking Homelander. Also, I don't think we properly introduced ourselves yet, Mr. Uh -- ”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, love. Name’s Butcher. William, Billy Butcher. Now get your whiny arse in the car so we can meet Canary and the others about this whole deal.”

I sigh, and decide it’s best not to argue. Probably better not to argue, anyway.

“And who’s Canary and the others?” I inquire as I slide into the backseat, not all too trusting of this guy to sit in the front with ‘im. Don’t know what kind of crap he’d pull. 

“My teammates. Hughie, Mother’s Milk, Frenchie, The Female . . .” He trails off, sighing. “And I suppose Starlight as well.”

“So Starlight’s acting as a mole for you guys?” Guess Homelander’s suspicions aren’t completely off the mark.

“Essentially.”

I hum, impressed. “I mean, she always seemed so hellbent on joining The Seven from her past interviews about gettin’ in, but I also heard of some creep flashing his dick at her face, jerkin’ off in front of her or whatever. Gross.”

“Yeah, The Seven surely ain’t a good lot, as you’ll come to find the longer you choose to work with us, Miss, uh -- “

“Croft,” I answer. “Aiza Croft. Eh, please don’t make any Angelina Jolie or Tomb Raider references. I get ‘em enough. Croft’s a real common surname, fuck’s sake!”

Butcher chuckles at my lament. “Pretty name for a pretty lady.”

I can’t agree there, honestly. Pretty? I’m about as much a Plain Jane as any, at my best anyway. Disregarding any self-maintenance and I look homeless or completely passable! Thick, unkempt hair down to my ass, eyes which are stool-colored (y’know, deep brown, almost black, which if we are to compare it to stool would indicate some serious underlying health issue but that’s beside the point), a heart-shaped face that hasn’t lost much of that baby-chub over the years, and an imperfect rectangular figure that can’t even meet five foot three without three inch heels! Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been interrogated at bars, or even any R or X rated movie, constantly carded even if I’m in my early fuckin’ thirties now. Know this guy’s only playin’ nice with me, so I take the compliment with a grain of salt. 

“Eh, hold off on the flatteries, I don’t buy that shit.” I can’t hold back a grin at that, though. Butcher’s charming. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice since I had a little run-in with Homelander. Had to pull out a little white lie there, just to get him off my ass.”

“Homelander’s been a thorn to my side for years now. He’s the one I really want decked.”

“Vengeance ain’t the best motivator,” I manage, but I try not to be too judgmental -- given what the guy’s told me, better to out Vought for their bullshit. “But what’s this I hear about Stormfront dyin’?”

“Ah, that Neo-Nazi, white supremacist cunt,” he nearly snarls. “She’s responsible for killin’ my wife.”

I hesitate for a moment. Yeesh, talk about heavy baggage. “And Homelander?”

“. . . We’ll elaborate on that later, Croft. Thanks for choosin’ to work for me. Don’t know if you’ve got any personal beef with Vought, but you’re working for a better cause than you ever would working for them, I promise.”

“Seems it,” I chuckle. “Thanks, Butcher. Uh, don’t know how useful I’ll be, but since I’m a newer face, I’ll be harder to seek out or even identify, I guess.”

“Great thinking, love. That was something that came to my mind as well.” He keeps his eyes forward, on the road, as he should. Wherever we’re headed, it’s probably somewhere hidden from the public. 

. . . Why do I suddenly feel my stomach and chest twisting? It ain’t from acid, so my guess is I’m probably a little into that guy, as if I’m some shrivelin’ anime school-girl with a gross, puppy-love crush on one of their upperclassmen. What do they call 'em? Their 'senpais'? I never exactly had a legitimate weeb phase back in the day, so . . . But ah, shit, that’s the last thing I want right now. 

Eh, it’s probably some fleeting infatuation. It’ll pass. I don’t get that attached too quickly, so what did I have to worry about? 

The rest of the drive to Butcher’s hide out is in silence.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more filler and campier, just wanting to move things along and feel stuff around before things get real. The plot will move along soon, but for now have fun with some interactions. Since I think we need more of that! 
> 
> -Will go back and edit any inconsistencies as I catch them, because I'm just... perfectionistic that way. 
> 
> Thanks for choosing to read this! Would love to hear your thoughts!

“Did you seriously drag another stranger into this, Butcher?” 

What a welcome back for the team leader! I cast a furtive glance at Butcher then back at his teammates, shrinking under the rest of the groups’ scrutinizing gazes. Either they feel for me, or they’re ready to kick me back out onto the streets where, given Homelander isn’t as dull as I initially pegged him to be during our first ever encounter and memorized my features, I might be tracked down like a rabid animal and caged as one. Maybe experimented on with that supe juice.

“Sorry, Hughie. We needed a backup, and the gal was the only one available at the time to help out. Starlight’s accomplices turned out not to be as willing, you see.”

“Dammit, Annie,” ‘Hughie’ mutters under his breath, and then I see him inspecting me again, expression hopeful. “Does she have it, though?” 

“The V? Yeah.” Butcher gestures me to hand over the purse he allowed me to borrow, and I still keep a fair distance from the others, more so out of respect to them. The Japanese girl’s giving me the creeps, just from her standoffish, little defensive nature, but she seems delighted that there’s another gal on board -- maybe we may have the opportunity to bond over irrelevant, obscure stuff like our favorite boy bands or cartoon characters between taking down Vought.

“So . . .” The Hughie lad comes up to me, smile warm and friendly. “I take it life was leading you nowhere so you ended up with us, huh?” 

“Not necessarily,” I laugh. “But this sounds more rad and amazing to bring down a group of over-glorified fucktard supes.”

“I like your style,” he states as he gestures to each comrade as he named theme. “So, uh, full introduction: that’s Kimiko, that’s Frenchie, that’s Mother’s Milk, you’re already acquainted with Butcher, and this is me, Hughie. Some white and nerdy dude along for this crazy ride because A-Train’s a raging piece of shit.”

I smile. “Nice to meet you guys. Ah, I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. Billy here needed an extra lapdog to suit his agenda, I guess.”

“Nothing of the sort, love,” Butcher pipes up as he examines the syringe of supe juice he swiped out of my purse. “We’re always eager to have another fighting for a more justifiable cause, unlike the rest of the world, fawning over these supes like they’re the British Royal Family. Not that that’s much better, either. Fuckton of troglodytes they all are.”

“Mm-mhm. I know more useless trivia about the British Royal Family than I ever cared to, but that is a cold, hard ‘word’ there.”

A shift in subject, Billy turns to Hughie to discuss some matters unbeknownst to me. I smile at Kimiko, who appears to have a faint blush from the attention I’m giving her. Frenchie comes in between us, grinning. 

“I’ll be happy to translate the best that I am able to,” Frenchie tells me. “She’s not one to use her words very much, just her gestures.”

“Understandable,” I say. “I appreciate it, Frenchie. Oh. Um, my name’s Aiza Croft.”

“Croft?” Frenchie inquires. “Like that Tomb Raider -- “

“My Gods I don’t want more Angelina Jolie or Tomb Raider references!”

“It’s alright, love. It’s all fun and games!”

“Until I kick ye in the dick.”

“I like that girl,” Billy interrupts with a chuckle before resuming his conversation with Hughie. I roll my eyes, already beginning to feel like home with them. These lot are genuine people -- a rare sight these days.

Hughie snorts at the reaction and I grin. Maybe this won’t be terrible. Sure, as it always goes, there may be casualties and there will be blood and I may eventually be among those casualties, but ultimately if it’s for the right cause, then I don’t have much of a problem. I’m already settled in, all cozied up and up for this whole shebang. Not like I was doing anything much before this, and this might make life more interesting and worth living.

“So,” Frenchie springs life into this conversation. “Did you work any day job prior to this? Because, believe me, if you can do literally anything else . . .”

“Eh, receptionist.” I shrug. “I’d take this over sitting on my ass at that desk any day.”

“With a philosophy like that, I’d consider this an upgrade, then.”

“Heh! Appreciate it, fella.” I playfully nudge him as if we’re already well past first-name basis, which, in some ways . . . I suppose we are. If I’m going to fit in here, I may as well act like I’m part of the group until it manifests itself. I believe in it! If supes can be manufactured into perfection then I believe there is some form of manifestation -- getting the life you want, having the people you want by your side. Knowing when to walk away. All of that spiritual growth mumbo-jumbo you see the next generation of youngins’ spreading all across their social media webpages as if it’s never been things we’ve known all along . . .

. . . Anyway I should stop dwelling on stuff that I shouldn’t be right then. Focus on living in this moment. Feels cool to feel like I’m working up to some higher purpose already, after previously feeling like my life was at a dead-end. Got to appreciate Butcher for coming into my life completely unprompted . . . 

Speaking of the ole’ chap I can’t help but get a good look at him when he’s got his focus shifted elsewhere, mostly on Hughie, which I now realized is who he declares his ‘Canary,’ whatever that means. Feel like I live under a rock these days (and since I work that typical, run-of-the-mill 9-5 as a receptionist, that may as well be the equivalent to cave-dwelling), but for a man his age, those years have been good to him despite whatever kind of shit he may have seen fighting against those over-glorified supe-shitstains assemble. Heck, got to ask what he uses to moisturize his skin to stay as youthful as he is. Even with the super hairy beard he grooms himself well, and usually I’m not that into Dad-bod, hairy men. Guess that means my tastes are evolvin’ . . . 

“Butcher must be some eye-candy for you if you’re staring for that long,” Frenchie remarks, his tone all-too-knowing. “He’s got a bit of a rep for being a charmer, but I’d try not to get too close, at least not right now. He just lost his wife, Becca. Got a lot of baggage beyond just that too. Now I’m not saying he’s got a blaring sign above his head written’ ‘Handle With Care’ like he’s a fragile piece of fine China, but, you know. Common human decency.” 

“With this kind of lifestyle,” - I gesture to the rickety old shack-basement place they’re stuck in, still an upgrade from my rundown apartment - “I’d say that’s to come with the package.. I appreciate the heads up, though.” I glance at him fleetingly once more before turning my attention back to Frenchie. “Now we’re suddenly having one of those California scenes.”

“Ah, yes, the classic, over-sharing about ours’ and other people’s lives and whatnot. Our entire life is suddenly a chick-flick or some campy sitcom.”

“Not that there’s a problem with that.”

“Never insinuated that there was a problem with that.”

“Fair.”

“So . . .” I trail off, attempting to find some topic matter that would interest the both of us. Never one for one-sided, awkward stuff. I like to make people comfortable. “. . . Kimiko, your gal pal. You two . . . y’know -- “ I make that classic, lewd hand-gesture. 

“No!” Frenchie’s blushin’ furiously at that notion! Adorable! “Nothing like that. I just want to help her; that’s all.” 

Good thing she’s somewhere mindin’ her business right then, ‘cause I won’t do that in front of her. That seems a little tasteless. 

“Well, that’s noble of ya. Nice to know chivalry’s not dead.”

“Never thought it to be in the first place, but it can do more harm than good if service is provided to the wrong folks.” Tone giving off air like he's seen some shit, and I nod. 

“Very, very true. So guess we’re sitting on our asses ‘til something new comes up . . .”

Well, not like they’re not gonna keep things that dull around here. We'll find ways to spice stuff up! Wonder what kind of team-building experiences I'll have with them. 'Til then, it's just laying low.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finally updates this thing with a shorter chapter to move things along*
> 
> *also finally went back and amended some smol inconsistencies/errors*
> 
> . . . Happy 2021! I can't wait for the next season of The Boys to come out. What are y'alls predictions?

Things have quieted down since we obtained a sample of the V, or maybe I’m just not paying enough attention. Observing the group from a fair distance has made me realize a few things: their chemistry with each other is amazing. All of them come from different backgrounds, with different, varying degrees of heavy emotional baggage, and hardly ever seem to clash that much, and on the occasion they do, they try to work through it rather than ignoring or pretending it never happened ‘cause not everybody has a solid sense of responsibility or accountability, even at certain ages. There’s that old phrase going around, that the people who say ‘accept me as I am,’ translates to them refusing to acknowledge that they have any faults or flaws in the first place. They don’t want to change. They don’t want to grow. Nobody wants to be around those types of people the more they begin to understand just how much they’re worth, and these people must’ve understood that ages ago, given how much they’ve had to endure with this stuff.

Now, I’m not trying to sound like a professionally trained therapist, ‘cause that’s not what I got my B.A. in (it was Social Work) and I sure as Hell don’t have the time or money to go up to my PhD in any subject, but I don’t think a lot of that stuff is rocket science. Even if it is, people who take time to observe and speculate can learn a lot about people.

“Got something weighing on your mind, love?”

My head snaps to Butcher’s direction, and I smile, bashful and shy as I seem to be around unfairly handsome men. I can feel my heart _singing_ , like the Angels above.

Ugh . . . I know I haven’t gotten any since my twenties, so maybe it’s just the estrogen talking, but I also don’t care much for the dating scene these days. I have come to embrace my solitude, and should there ever be a day where I meet someone I consider to want as a mate, then I’m willing to give it a shot. Just . . . as of right now, I can’t focus on that. Have too much on my plate with helping these guys wherever necessary.

I’m not even genuinely sure if I’m truly needed here, since they already seem established and tight-knit.

“Love?”

“Aiza, please,” I finally respond, tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear. I’m feeling my body temperature increase exponentially. I can’t even look into those eyes without turning to complete mush!

. . . Do any of these guys have womanly or y’know vagina-bearer utensils, like paddle brushes, tampons, pads, or light makeup - something that suddenly crossed my mind? Channel-flipping again . . . oof! “I prefer my name. Bearing that in mind, are you alright with being called ‘Butcher’ or ‘Billy’?”

“Either works for me, l- Aiza,” he corrects himself, something I appreciate. Healthy boundaries _should_ be established. “Though I do have a habit of using a word most people dare not utter, but it’s not out of internalized sexism or misogyny as I may have led some to believe.”

Huh?

Oh. Oh.

_Ohhhhh . . ._

Eh, not like I’m the type to be easily offended anyway. I shrug. “No issues there. ‘Sides I like degradation in the bedroom.”

Shit! _That_ tumbles out of my mouth before I had the chance to stop myself! He’s probably thinking I’m some kinda kinky bastard right then, but it’s not _entirely off_. Just . . . ugh! Aiza! You complete ninny -- !

“Damn,” he breathes, and I hate the effect it has on me. I’m flushing down _there_. As if I needed another reminder that I really want to get laid! “A bit of a spitfire, are ya?”

“Sure,” I snort. “Glad you don’t take me for a whore, though.”

“Of course not.” Billy seems appalled by the mere _notion_. “To quote Canary over there, cunts are 98% the reason for many of my life decisions.”

At that rather _vulgar_ statement -- as if reading my mind and trying to make me feel more ‘at home’ here -- I nearly howl with laughter, slapping my thigh, the ugly, unhinged kind that most people step back a bit from, but Billy doesn’t seem all that turned off by it. In fact it seems to have charmed him more. That’s reassuring, I suppose . . .

“Omi _gosh_ ,” I finally come down from that fit, wiping a tear from my eye. “You’re a charmer.”

A comfortable silence follows, like we’re studying each other. Not much to me, really, but I’ll be damned if Butcher finds something unique to me, apart from, eh, just being a normie, which I’ve always been perfectly content about; never read too much into supes but I know how staged and performative their acts of chivalry or whatever are. I think anyone with any sense of perception can . . .

“Are you ever going to tell me your personal beef with Homelander, or is that a giant can of worms to avoid opening until I am more acquainted with you guys?”

“Well, you’re rather perceptive. Refreshing,” he remarks. “Alright, l- Aiza, I’ll let ya in: Homelander raped and conceived a child with my dead wife, and I want to make sure his head is handed to me on a silver platter once we’re finished with showing the world how full of shit Vought is.”

My face falls. That is not something I expected. Yeah, it’s easy to pick up on the idea that The Seven are an obnoxious bunch of shit-stains, but this is . . . my Gods. I need a minute.

“Um,” I cough awkwardly into my elbow. “I’m . . . so sorry. I just, _wo_ w _._ Any chance I can get in on chopping Homelander’s body up like we’re in _Kill Bill_ and putting it up for display like anarchists trying to make some morbid statement?”

“We’ll leave room for you there, Aiza.”

I almost snarl thinking about what that poor lady might’ve gone through with that fuckstain: “What a vacuous, piece of grade A garbage cunt -- “

“Catching on, I see. Appreciate that.”

“Heh, you guys make it easy to. Appreciate y’all.”

“Of course,” Butcher shifts his attention to Frenchie, who is currently occupying himself by entertaining Kimiko, making her smile and chin up. Probably they’re all bored of waiting for something to happen, entirely understandable. All of this feels like some kind of dark and gritty DC Comics type of bullshit.

. . . Except this isn’t a comic book and it’s all very, very real. This shit’s fucked. Like, absolutely, thoroughly _fucked_.

A strange gut-feeling overwhelms my stomach as Hughie approaches us, a grim expression adorning his features.

“So,” Hughie begins, no hesitation. “We _may_ have an unwanted guest patrolling our parameters.”

“ _What_?” Butcher spits. “Who?”

“A certain ableist, xenophobic, misogynistic, white-supremacist piece of -- “

Butcher raises his palm. “Speak no more.”

“Um,” I pipe up, raising my arm as if I’m in school waiting on my turn to answer questions. “I might be the issue there.”

“No,” Billy assures me. “I’m sure there may be some other reason why Homelander turned up around this area.”

“So um, what do we _do_ in a situation like this exactly?”

“Maybe The Female can lure him away. Or we just wait it out, If he can’t find what he’s looking for here, then we’re safe for the time being.”

“He could be looking for the sample we took,” Hughie offers. “Should we, you know, cloak it?”

“Not a bad idea,” Billy concedes. “And what of the possibilities of him finding us down here?”

“Even with his abilities? I’d say slim chances, honestly. Don’t know what would make him think to look here.”

“I can’t think of any particular reason at this moment, either.”

“Um,” I pipe up, tilting my head at them. “How are you guys not shitting yourselves at the thought of Homelander?”

They both turn to stare at me like I just uttered something completely idiotic, which given their experiences with Vought, whatever those migth’ve been, it may as well have been something dumb to say.

“Well, we do have Starlight. And The Fe -- “ Hughie nudges Billy to amend that statement -- “ _Kimiko_.”

“Sure. I guess that’s some good protection. But. Like. It’s also _Homelander_.”

Hughie seems to have picked up on the implications behind the emphasis of his name, and he turns back to Butcher with a _look_. “You have to admit she’s got a point, Butcher.”

“Like, in terms of the personal vendetta you have against him, it’s just. Like. What keeps you guys so calm?”

“Patience?” Billy suggests.

“Faith?” Hughie adds. “I dunno, just spewing shit out of my ass at this point. But we have a fair idea what we’re dealing with when it comes to The Seven by now. So just hang tight and trust us, alright?”

I let out a shaky breath, and nod. Well, I have no reason not to just blindly trust ‘em at this point . . . 


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fillerish chapter just to move things forward a bit, but not by too much. I hope I'm not leaving people lying in wait here though. I'm honestly still trying to figure out how to pace right for the main events to occur - I hope you all can be patient with me as you have been thus far. Thank you to those who are reading along, silently or not. I would love some comments of encouragement to continue this if people do really like it.

Since my joining these fuckers in their crusade to stop - or at least, eh, _attempt_ to prevent - further mass production of manufactured-to-perfection superheroes by the Vought corporation and their numerous extensions or branches or whatever other affiliates they may have (which is again to say, numerous), I have come to these following conclusions (again, this stuff really doesn’t take a rocket scientist to piece together):

  * Homelander is a complete, raging shit-stain.
  * Honestly? The entirety of Vought and The Seven are all complete, raging shit-stains. Especially Stormfront and her entire reason for existing. 
    1. That excludes Starlight - as well as Queen Maeve, apparently - but I sort of figure that’s a given since she’s in on exposing their misdeeds to the community/general public, yadda yadda more political bullshit.
  * The sooner we have Vought brought to justice for their abuse of power, (literally) mass killer manipulation tactics, betraying the entire friggin’ globe into making them believe these supes were ‘Chosen’ to be heroes by the Maker, or whatever more bullshit they sold ‘em, .etc, etc, the sooner we can put it all to rest, maybe there’s already a way to reverse such effects on these supes who may have never wanted this for themselves. It will surprise me more, honestly, if there isn’t already a formula which reverses the effects of Compound-V. I figure a formula like that is reserved for especially problem-supes, those who threaten the very thing Vought has brought to this entire globe. From the looks of things, I’m surprised no member of The Seven have lashed out, if they have ever discovered the truth of the origins of their ‘God-given’ superhero abilities. Maybe they’re just that delusional about their upbringings. I don’t know. I’m not a supe, I’m not even a rebel, by all accounts I have just waltzed in and joined them on their quest - something where they actually have a justifiable cost and they’re not doing it for the likes, shares, comments, shameless self-promotion, the over-inflation of self-importance. What have you.



“Aiza, you good?”

“Huh?”

“You look, well . . .” I don’t think Mother’s Milk has the proper words to say right out what’s concerning him, but there’s no need to walk on eggshells with me here. I can take brutal honesty if I am able to process all of what i have been witnessing since my embarking on this journey. “Well, you honestly look like you’re about to vomit - which if that is the case: need me to get a bucket?”

“Given what I’ve gotten myself into, like, hours ago?” My sense of time is void these days, especially with how much older I’m getting - “I’d say this response is delayed.”

The members of anti-Voughters (geddit? They’re like anti-vaxxers but sensible! *crickets chirp* Eh, yeah, yeah. I know I ain’t funny) exchange looks before coming to an universal conclusion: “ _Fair_.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Does anybody have the time?”

“It’s,” Hughie begins, raising his hand up as if to signal me ‘hold that thought,’ glancing at the clock displayed on his phone’s lock screen. “Nearly 10PM.”

That comes as news to me, not thinking it has been that long. I think I joined Butcher in his quest to bring these fucks to justice around late afternoon today. “Surprised Homelander hasn’t stormed into this area yet.”

“It’s right under his nose, even given his abilities,” Frenchie reminds me.

“Well, if we’re all pretty much sitting ducks until we or well Butcher here comes up with a plan, does anybody happen to have any skin care, hair care, you know, womanly self-maintenance stuff I can use while I’m here?” _Or will I have to resort to how I was in my glory days where I had a bit of an impulse-stealing addition?_ I have my Michael Kors purse clutched in my weak, now trembling little hands. It does have some travel-sized shit I can use until they run out of product (that may or may not have been bought with what little money I earned or also stolen, that I’ll leave up to others to figure it out for themselves, leave room for a little mystery to my character since I’m all up in here oversharing, oversharing there, oversharing everywhere). “Ya girl’s gotta look, well, not so hobo-lookin’ or like I’ve been hibernating in a cave this last winter. If I’m gonna fit in with society and remain out of Vought’s deceitful eyes, should I ever be blessed with the opportunity to see the light of day again.”

“Someone’s being a bit dramatic,” Butcher teases, still glued to his spot next to me on this lounge. “Not to undervalue your emotions, l- Aiza, but you learn to adapt in this sort of setting.”

“Well,” I cut in almost icily, eyes narrowing at him. “I still don’t know how to accept what I have just learned in a very short time window, but eh, leaves more room for adventure, or something like that. I just. Dunno. How you guys stay so cool about it all. I know with experience comes a stronger, more genuine understanding of how things operate, but I feel like no matter how seasoned I get with stuff like this? Kind of like how doctors or other health-care professionals have to harden themselves when they’re holding people’s lives at stake? I feel like I’ll never learn to ‘adapt’ to something like that - especially if my joining you guys is at the possible cost of my own life. I know we all were just your average normies before all of this, but . . .”

“ - I mean, hey, I worked at some audio shop, man! Still living with my dad, literally having to be quiet in my bedroom while my dead girlfriend and I would - ” Hughie offers, in hopes to comfort me, but only is met with mutual glares from the others.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Butcher inquires, eyes shimmering with some concern, which, I can’t blame him, but now it’s making me even weaker in the knees and even more like a ninny for the guy.

“No,” I murmur, honestly, eyes downcast. _It’s a bit too late for that anyway. Homelander knows my face._ “Just . . . weighing out the pros and cons or something like that out loud. Not like my life was much better before all of this, but at least before this my only concern was getting mugged in the middle of the night by somebody with a crowbar.”

Ah. Of course I’d make a reference to The Joker killing off Jason Todd brutally with a crowbar. I don’t know why I specifically choose _that_.

Hughie winces at the very mild imagery I’ve provided. “Oooooof . . .”

“The true makings of a New Yorker,” Butcher adds.

“Still kind of baffling that these folks are neither super nor heroic,” I say. “I mean, sure, I guess we all had our suspicions that stuff like this is too good to be true - this is stuff you’d expect from children’s comic books, like DC or Marvel, you know back in the 80's - but this is. _Wow_. You know?”

“You don’t need to remind me of that,” Mother’s Milk chuckles, almost lifelessly. Like he really knows the cost of such a lifestyle, and of course he knows. I don’t need any of these guys to elaborate for me. Their mutual desires to expose Vought is their reason to be together at all.

Kimiko - who is silent as usual, as far as gesturing goes for her - rests her hand on my shoulder and squeezes it gently, making some motions with her free hand. Frenchie eyes her, eyes shimmering as he deciphers her message, and he grins.

“She says she understands - she’s suped up herself, and she never wanted it.”

I crack a little smile. Nice to know Kimiko’s willing to interact with me, especially since she’s the quiet type, regardless of how she prefers to communicate.

“Wait, let me run this by you guys - did Starlight, y’know, already out Vought for Compound-V? ‘Cause what’s the point of giving it to us? For safe-keepin'?”

“Just to keep it to ourselves. I think Starlight already did her part,” Hughie replies.

Don’t know if it’s just me, but I noticed a little croak in his voice at every mention of Starlight thus far. It’s made me a little curious, but I decided not to pry just yet. I don’t like meddling into affairs that aren’t mine ( _anymore_ , and anymore than I would ever truly need to with this lot, anyway).

Shrugging it off, I try to ignore my continually skyrocketing heartrate, feeling a little fatigued and definitely like I’m going to faint. As if my ‘Spidey-Senses’ are tingling I feel like Homelander might be approaching our whereabouts - it’s just a woman’s intuition kind of thing, or maybe it’s just my anxiety making shit up, because if what Hughie and the others assure me is true, then there’s no way Homelander should find us unless we make ourselves known somehow. I don’t know how to process all of what’s happening now that I’ve had time to settle in.

“May I, um, have some time in the ladies’ room? Do you guys have any self-maintenance stuff? Just the bare basics will suffice.”

“Sure thing, Kimi can let you borrow some of her extras,” Frenchie says, eyeing Kimiko who nods eagerly, grabbing my hands and leading me away from the group. Maybe this is an opportunity to bond with her - maybe she can teach me how she speaks? Though she seems like the sort of girl who has to warm up to you before she feels like she can openly communicate, which in that case I won’t rush things more than I already have with The Boys.

I just can't help but shake off the feeling I might be way in over my head with this one, as much as these guys have proven to know what they're doing. I should've had the common sense not to interact with someone who didn't even bother to show me any proof that he worked for the FBI, though . . .


	5. V

I have no idea what’s become of my common sense as well as my sense of self-preservation because after being practically stockpiled with various womanly products I’m not sure if I’d have any use for by Kimiko, I’m left in the restroom to dwell on the decisions I’ve made for my life in the last less-than-24 hours. I somehow placed myself in a position where remaining members of The Seven, the most fearfully and wonderfully-made supes on the globe, can slaughter me at a moment’s notice. I’m going to be glancing over my shoulder for the rest of my life if Homelander and I ever cross paths again, which may occur sooner than I hope for it to happen.

After cleaning myself up - from smoothing out any kinks in my thick hair down to my ass, to snipping off any huge knots or split-ends, to giving my blotchy skin a full-blown self-maintenance check from full-blown sugar-based exfoliating scrubs, to using drugstore toners, drugstore moisturizers and vitamin-C serums to replenish my nasty ass pale complexion, and beyond - I finally look a little more myself pre-spiritual and personal growth. There’s no unsightly puffiness under my eyes (or as many calls it, ‘raccoon eyes’), and I think I have done a fairly good job for someone who’s lost touch with her old 25-step combined skin-care & hair-care routine.

I step out of the restroom after taking a few moments of recollecting myself, only to be met with lots of stunned, nearly stupefied stares from the group - especially from Butcher, I note, and I can’t help but notice how the way he’s craning his neck to get a good look at me exposes more of the creamy, rich skin that he takes meticulous care of along his neck and collarbone, and all that’s on my mind right then is how badly I’d like to mark it up with love bites . . .

_Oh, for fuck’s sake, Aiza, can’t you calm your horny tits for two seconds?_

“Looking clean, love,” Butcher remarks after everyone seems to have gotten out of their temporary stupor, he also seemingly has forgotten my preferences in how I wished to be addressed around these parts (not that I particularly cared, he can get away with just about anything, at this point). Butcher clears his throat before turning back to the rest of the group - looks like I might’ve interrupted some important discussion concerning the situation at hand here.

Instead of paying attention my mind’s flashing images in my head of me riding Butcher’s mouth while he’s discussing some kind of game-plan on how to divert Homelander from stumbling across their - or ‘our’ - home base. Do I need a bucket of ice dunked onto me? It honestly seems it . . .

 _Ugh, so much potential, and you’re not even livin’ it_ , I think to myself, licking my now moisturized, plumper (and hopefully more desirable) lips absently. Mother’s Milk seems to have caught on, an amused glint in his eyes, but says nothing - a smart move since he probably doesn’t want to get hit if he talks some _more_ shit. Ain’t afraid to put a mother-fucker in their place. ‘Sides, I already have enough flack for being a little too obvious about ogling too much at Butcher . . .

“Aiza, you got all of that?”

I snap back to reality and gaze at Hughie: “Huh?”

“She might need it repeated there, Butcher.”

“Aiza, according to the spyware Hughie installed in different parts of town, Homelander’s zeroing in here. He’s smarter than he lets on, as you may have realized, since this isn’t somewhere that can be easily detected by even him. He can’t see through Zinc,” Butcher is explainin’ supe mumbo-jumbo to me, and I’m more focused on how that mouth may have more use elsewhere!

“Are you proposing we create some kind of diversion, then?”

“Were you somewhere off on Planet Aiza while we were discussing game-plans? _Yes_ , we are thinking of creating some kind of diversion,” Mother’s Milk cuts in, the comment clearly lighthearted as he’s cracking a smirk as if to insinuate he knows I have it bad already.

 _Ugh_ . . .

“Since you are already acquainted with him, we’re thinking of having you approach him - as if it’s all mere coincidence that you both run into each other again,” Hughie decides to circle us back to what they have all previously discussed while I was away on ‘Aiza wants a fuck-cation with Billy Butcher.’

“Okay . . . “ I eye them all wearily, frowning a bit as I’m trying to piece together exactly _why_ they specifically choose _me_ for this job. Perhaps to make me feel more ‘of use’? “ . . . So do you want me to like, ‘seduce’ him out of discovering y’all’s habitat, or?”

“ . . . I mean if that’s what it takes - “ Hughie shrugs, “Had to dirty talk Ezekiel, you know, ‘pray the gay away’ supe dude into spilling some information for me.”

I snort out loud at that. “Figures he’d be the closeted homosexual preaching to his choir of hypocritical, likely also closeted homosexual or bisexual or pansexual or whatever religious folk.”

Hughie chuckles along with me: “ _Right_?”

The feeling of oneness with the group fills my heart again, and it’s an amazing feeling. Never met a bunch who can make me feel at home within even minutes of knowing each other, and I feel like I may have made friends for a lifetime - even after all of this fucked up shit’s resolved.

“Maybe I can tempt him with a good prostate orgasm.”

“We got ourselves a kinky bastard,” Butcher quips, chuckling.

I perk one of my meticulously-plucked eyebrows and grin. They were once all bushy and unkempt, but now they’re ‘acceptable.’

“Well here he comes,” Hughie announces when he glances at the screen of his laptop, then glancing at me: “Are you ready for this?”

I shrug: “I don’t think with this stuff there is such a thing as ‘being ready,’ so here I go.”

* * *

Homelander’s approaching. Here I am just acting as if I’m for some unknown reason strolling along some open alley where I can easily realize my previous biggest fear of getting mugged and then beaten to death with a crowbar.

“Oh, I think we’ve run into each other earlier today,” Homelander greets me as he lands gracefully on his feet from hovering in the air like some self-glorified asshole that we all know him to be. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just taking a nightly stroll,” I say with a surprising unwavering confidence in my tone. It’s a bit chilly tonight for whatever reason, and I’m bundled up in a turtleneck Frenchie graciously offered me as well as one of Starlight’s pretty lace scarves that Hughie granted me as well. I’m rubbing my little slender hands together now feeling less calloused after exfoliating and moisturizing them, attempting to stay a bit warmer. I can feel my legs trembling upon being in Homelander’s presence. I don’t think anyone can blame me; this guy’s terrifyingly unpredictable from what little exposure I got from him.

“This late?” Homelander is deceivingly concerned for my safety. “A gorgeous lady such as yourself shouldn’t be out here unprotected. Would you allow me to escort you home?”

I hold my tongue on the clearly fabricated flattery. “I’m good, thanks.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” Homelander presses on, before his eyes flicker to a corner and then back to my face. “Think fast, beautiful.”

“ - _Huh_?”

Before I know it I’m feeling my arms locked up by Black Noir himself, and Homelander has his own syringe of the V prepped up for specifically myself. “I’ve had a chat with Ashley, you see. She didn’t know who you were, ‘A.C.,’ so we dug up some information on you with that generous piece of information you’ve provided. Your former flame was a military Big Boy, huh?” Homelander chuckles darkly, “That may be useful for us. Stillwell sure did wish for The Seven to be involved with the military . . .”

“You do realize my ex has a restraining order on me, right?” Ah, my past coming back to haunt me. Classic and would never be overdone in the world, but after having been repeatedly shown to have stolen from his various checkings and savings accounts (I’m talking millions upon millions of his fortunes) . . . I think he’ll be more relieved than genuinely concerned for my safety.

“That can be overridden,” he promises, “Are you not a skilled hacker?”

 _Oof_ , I wince at the bitter reminder of my many _nearly_ undetected hacking attempts into various databases and money vaults . . .

“This may sting a little, gorgeous,” he purrs affectionately like a needy kitten, and I feel something hitch in my throat before I find myself officially blacking out before the injection and the weight of this entire ordeal consuming me.

Before I fall unconscious the last I hear from the piece of the overglorified, shitstain is: “ _What a wonderful new addition to our fallen assemble, wouldn't you agree, Black Noir?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, snap! Things are finally picking up now! Doing a re-watch by introducing the series to a friend, so that helped me get some inspiration here. 
> 
> Hope people are enjoying!


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for rape/non-con, lactation kink brief mentions, breeding kink, cunnilingus (of in the ass variety), threesome, heroorgyasm stuff (even if not actually acted upon).

Amazing to think where someone can end up in a span of still _less_ than 24 hours. First I’m working against the supes (and that’s still my vibe, don’t misunderstand me there). Now I’m forced to work for ‘em ‘cause they have something on me that can very easily land me into deep shit with the _actual_ CIA or feds, _or_ scorched alive with Homelander’s little laser-eye-thingies. I can’t decide which is a worse or more merciful fate. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. I’m stuck here glued to what was once Queen Maeve’s seat before she flew the coup ~~with good reason~~ , and Homelander’s staring me down as if determining what to make of me and whatever _useful_ addition I would make to the newly assembled Seven by Homelander himself. Maybe determining my Seven personality or some shit. Ashley’s there, that pretty annoying PR lady, along with some others - people who I don’t care to ask for names. I mean, most of their purpose is just publicity stunts and promotional propaganda shit for likes, shares, comments, and the like, isn’t it? What other purpose would they have? They’re neither heroic nor super, I have to remind myself, and I have yet to discover what abilities I may have apprehended myself after being jacked up by their supe ‘roids.

“Awfully quiet, you are,” Homelander finally says after watching me fully adjust to my surroundings. Many kill for such an opportunity - to be within proximity of Homelander and the rest of The Seven assemble. I’m not among those folks, especially after learning of their treachery - the horrors they’ve caused others needlessly, for no other explanation than their sadistic pleasures and their unyielding needs to feel desired by the public eye.

I don’t respond, only keep a watchful, cautious eye on him and the others. Black Noir is there, as well as The Deep (likely uninterested in being a part of this) . . . I don’t see anybody else aboard, which means The Seven is essentially shattered into smithereens since The Boys’ interference! Good on ‘em!

“We have many plans for you, Croft,” Homelander adds, settling into his own chair. He leans in, getting a good look at me. “Myself, especially. You see I have come to this _wonderful_ realization sometime ago that I can, in fact, _breed_ little mes.”

And I feel a breath hitch in my throat again - surely he isn’t suggesting what I dearly hope he isn’t?

“’Aiza Croft,” the way my alias rolls of off his tongue is nothing short of unsettling, “Not your true name, isn’t it?”

“No,” I say simply, my voice strong in its tone. Thank God it hasn’t lost that edge in spite of the situation I’m in.

“You’re right; it doesn’t seem to have that ‘ring’ to it. Mrs. Homelander sounds more appropriate, even if that sounds a little gaudy, too,” he muses, and I try _not_ to gag at the idea that he wants us tied together, “But you ought to have the opportunity in knowing that The Homelander isn’t actually my real name.”

“What is it, then, some classic white nobody guy John Doe name?”

Homelander goes silent.

“Well I'll be damned,” I snicker, “You’re an _actual John Doe_ , aren’t you?”

He frowns, clearly not amused that I catch on that quickly.

I give myself time to come down before I get into a potential fit of laughter that may follow after that realization, because my roasting Homelander (or ‘John Doe’) may result in my actual roasting and having my roasted body be sent back to The Boys as a declaration of accepting the war they’ve started against them, The Seven.

“I mean, if you really aren’t happy with it . . .” I clear my throat, cue an awkward shift in my position in my seat. “You _could_ go with ‘John Smith,’ something that’s more . . .” I trail off attempting to find the appropriate term. “. . . _Identity_ defining, or something? I felt like my real name was far too common, so . . .”

“. . . Yes, ‘Emma Brown’ is a rather common, Plain Jane name.”

I wince. Gosh do I hate my real name. Especially with how it rolls off of Homelander’s tongue so smoothly. That’s why I opted for something that has a little more _umph_ to it: Aiza Croft. Even if that means getting a fuckton of Angelina Jolie references for the rest of my life. ‘Aiza Croft’ is an alias I derived from, actually, ‘Lovecraftian’ shit, or ‘Ravencroft,’ like from that old Scooby-Doo movie from the late 90’s . . . _The Witch’s Ghost_ , or something? As if I need to give myself _more_ reminders of how lonely of a childhood I once had . . . and I took out ‘Raven’ out of the entire name ‘cause I don’t want to end up sounding like I’m that Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way original character from that one _Harry Potter_ fanfiction. _Listen_ , I actually put some thought into it!

. . . Never mind the backlash and endless references I’d endure in the future!

“Why don’t we twist things around then?” Homelander rips into the silence again, and I’m getting real tired of listening to him enjoying himself talk. “Why not John and Aiza Croft, then? It might give us more publicity points if we address that we opted to go with your surname instead of my own, reinforcing a matriarchy influence of sorts . . .”

_Ewwwww!!!!!!!!_

“I’m not marrying your pansy ass.”

“’Fraid you don’t have much of a say on the matter, gorgeous.” Homelander’s eyes flicker from my head to my toes, as if using his X-Ray vision to see what goods he’s getting out of this. “Hmm, my visions aren’t allowing me to get a good look at you. Why don’t we do something about that? Deep, Noir . . . ?”

Without another moment of hesitation The Deep and Black Noir abide by Homelander’s desires and cleanly rip apart my (or rather the others’ assemble of clothing for my comfort outdoors) clothes, now under the lustful gazes of the three of them plus all of the extras surrounding us. Ashley’s made her exit to give us time, I suppose, before she declares her decisions with me and my public personality. 

“ _Gorgeous_ ,” he purrs, rising out of his chair as he eyes me like a starving wolf, creeping closer to its prey. “I only wonder how good you’ll feel as my personal cock-sleeve.”

His lips hover over my throat, slipping all the way down until he finds my nethers, my legs trembling not from arousal but from fear over how easily this man may be able to break me. He doesn’t hesitate to steal a little lick, then closes his mouth over me and humming in satisfaction at how I squirm in Noir’s and Deep’s stronghold, their arms constricting me like Octopus’ tentacles.

I know I wanted to get some, having getting laid on the brain but with someone else in mind! Not from this fucking shitstain! Never in a billion fucking years! Never in the fucking undetermined period of time I am able to remain on this godforsaken planet!

His tongue is not deep in my vagina hole but deep in my ****ASS HOLE****. Holy **_**FUCK**_**. Totally my thing just really wish it isn’t coming from _this fucker_!

Yet another involuntary moan sounds out of my lips, filling the atmosphere and I can feel all the nasty grins on me as Homelander continues to please my womanly region.

Goddammit, I hate myself. I hate myself, I hate myself, **_**I fucking hate myself**_**.

Deep’s getting impatient over there, from the corner of my eye I can see him touching himself, his little fish undies already gone, whimpering a bit from a need for relief.

“ - Come on John, you got to let me have a taste.”

“Now Deep, we can all have our fun in time. I just want my time with her first. Let’s see how fast I can make her come. This is her initiation to the group, of sorts.” He twirls his tongue against my clitoris and I shudder and gasp, now my legs are trembling from _arousal instead_ , again all of these reactions are involuntary, which elicits a chuckle out of him. “It’s alright, Croft. Enjoy yourself. No one’s here to see you give in like a little whore.”

_Probably pretty dang fast since I’m sensitive as fuck down there!_

“Maybe you can reenact one of those fan-porn videos, where Maeve rode your tongue into oblivion,” Deep suggests, grinning like a maniac.

“No way in Hell am I going to - ”

“ - You don’t have a fucking choice, Croft.”

Ouch. K. Not as if I don’t have rights over my whole ass body but according to what Hughie has told me that’s all gone once you sell yourself to Vought.

Don’t know how long this will last but before I know it I’m tossed carelessly into John Doe’s arms, and I feel everyone in the room fixing their gaze on me before closing the already tight space between us all. I’m trying not to let my guard down or show that I’m all that keen on these turn of events, but no matter what I try to communicate to them via gestures or verbal shit, they’ll find some way to twist it into me actually enjoying the crap they’re pulling on me. And what the hell is this about me coming from a matriarchy-dominated region? As bad-ass and womanly empowerment-y as that sounds, I sincerely doubt anyone’s going to buy that shit. Especially given what has already been exposed about Vought thus far with the Compound-V. There’s also the fact that not only am I a Plain Jane as any, I am also a pasty white Plain Jane. No one’s going to care much if there’s not enough POC rep or whatever.

I doubt a supe like Homelander cares all that much, though.

“So distracted by your thoughts. A night with me on my mattress will have your thoughts riddled with fantasies of getting impaled by my cock instead.”

Gross, are we in some kind of amateur hardcore porno video now?

“Geez, Homelander, you aren’t going to let your ole’ buddy ole’ pal Deep get a taste?”

Homelander glares actual laser daggers at Deep. “No.”

Something hitches in Deep’s throat as fear’s written all over his face and he backs up, raising his arms in surrender: “Fair.”

Hope Butcher’s caught wind of all of this - or at least has figured at this point I’ve been abducted. Hughie _had_ installed spyware all over the area, if I recall correctly. Doesn’t help that I’m being forced to bed with Home-fucking-lander of all the people I ever have to endure breathing the same air as.

And this is where we are now: now I’m caged in the arms of Homelander, atop of a soft, cushiony, luxurious, large mattress. Nothing more of my clothes is ripped off apart from my blouse being unbuttoned just enough to showcase my boobs, which he marvels at for whatever reason. I have a dumbfounded look on his face the entire time. I don’t truly understand.

But then shit gets weirder when he noses at my neck to get a whiff of my scent, nothing spectacular, just scentless lotion and spray. It still eggs him on to explore more, and I cannot fathom what might be going on in his head as he’s doing this. Honestly I’m not sure I’m too keen on learning more about these fucktards. Not unless it involves somehow anticipating their every move, knowing what makes them tick, what their motives are, how to exploit them . . .

Homelander and I make eye contact for a brief moment, and I read the expression in his eyes: he’s going to feast. In more ways than one tonight. I have to endure it all . . .

****Time to put this bitch in her fucking place. Goddamn her and her Stillwell vibes. Even Stormfront vibes. But no sign of any xenophobia or homophobia or anything that could be used against her, apart from her hacker past, and her not especially commendable attempts at robbing her Big Boy Military ex-boyfriend’s savings vault.** **

_Holy shit_ , I realize that I’ve forgotten that Homelander juiced me up with the V! _Is this the new gig??? Holy fuck!_

I smile mysteriously at him before he descends onto me.

Now this might be something that may be somewhat in my favor - and more of my new-found powers have yet to be unraveled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the late update. At least it is late for me. Another rewatch of more episodes the previous night with a friend helped give me the kick to continue this fic. Now things are really kicking up - I estimate from here on out there will be not much longer to this, but I can't determine the exact amount of chapters. I am so, so flattered by those who left reviews. I am so glad people are enjoying this as much as I am. Even a little comment makes my day. Thank you.


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